Stay Still, Look Strong
by TheDarkFlygon
Summary: He's never been the kind to complain. [Orion timeline, oneshot, platonic]


He's never been the kind to complain.

How could he? Anyone bathing so intensely in the light of Nosaka Yuuma has no right to complain: he's lucky as it is to be his right-hand, to be involved in his plans, to have witnessed how much of a hero Nosaka is. He'll never forget their first meeting, the evening where he saw a boy his age save a little child from a housefire he'd have never jumped in himself, mesmerized and terrified at the same time of the flames and for the boy who wasn't scared of them.

Truly, how _could_ he complain, when everyone around him has always been this luminous, even when put through the worse?

It's not like the current context is going to help either. The world championship is as harsh as he expected it to be, if not worse: Orion disciples are out for the team's throats, there's a bunch of business he's only partially aware of (but he doesn't mind that Nosaka would rather discuss it with other people, Hiura is a much better strategist than he could ever be) floating over their heads like a threatening nebula, the team can be agitated by personal conflict and incompatible relationships. So, in this context, how could he complain? He's not the one who's had suffered from a split identity, from nourishing disappointed hopes to one day reunite with his long-lost parent, from insecurities, from injuries. He's been fine, he'd always be fine.

Well, scratch that last statement, he supposes.

There are a number of things that quietly tell him that he's not doing so good as soon as he wakes up. Just the fact that he's had troubles getting out of bed says a lot about that, but he chooses to ignore it and brush it off as yesterday's training having dragged on and on to perfect techniques and tactics. His teammates seem vastly unaffected by the fatigue plaguing him, so he assumes it's just a bad day and also brushes aside the lethargy sticking to his bones.

But the thing is that, when he'd have taken it easy otherwise (but would have still trained: they have no time to lose and too much to do), he's made the promise to Nosaka to help him with a plan, whether it be an investigation or to help with his genius brainstorming. He can't go back on this promise because "he feels weird". That's just not something he can do because that'd be doing Nosaka disservice, and he doesn't want to ever do that. That's just dirty.

It starts softly enough. They're doing a bit of physical training to gain endurance, strength and speed. He doesn't let his shortness of breath spill through his well-adjusted façade, or so he thinks at least, because he's sure at least Nosaka or Ichihoshi has noticed. Nobody says anything, though, so he's content staying silent and continue on. It helps him hide the scratch in his throat and how weird his voice sounded when he said hello to everyone in the cafeteria this morning.

He's sure someone has to have also noticed his change of habits, especially when he's surrounded by geniuses with sharp eyes. Still, just like him, nobody says anything; and it's better that way, he supposes. It helps him in his mission not to bother anyone about minor issues, at least.

"Minor issues" is a term he regrets having used to describe to his current predicament during the afternoon. If the morning was already somewhat tough to follow, mostly because his teammates are quick and will never slow down as long as the wind of hope blows through their sails, and whomever doesn't follow with this wind is bound to crash and burn. That's just how the FFI is, nothing to complain about when everyone participating in it is in similar conditions, tied to pressure from the countries they represent and the teams they play against.

He knows nobody has tricked him into drinking something weird, as it wouldn't make sense for a teammate to poison him when their only mole, Ichihoshi, has long absolved for his former crimes against them; but he'd have liked to have had an alternative to knowing it may have been a bad idea for him to even get out of his room to begin with. Who's he kidding, though? It's never been about him, it's always been about the team and about helping Nosaka as best as he can, no complaint to be had when he chose this life for himself. No complaint… to be had. Absolutely.

He feels stiff and more than lethargic by this point of the day. The afternoon sun of Russia, shining in the artic summer sky, thumps again his head and he gets dizzier by the step, following diligently after his best friend he's sworn to serve and help no matter what because Nosaka deserves to shine while he stays in the shadow, pulling some strings on demand. He doesn't believe himself as someone who should be in the spotlight, not when he's always been around people who deserve attention more than he does to show their talent and sparkles. He's destinated to help, that's it, and there's nothing else he needs or even should add against or for it.

Still, that doesn't help him hide everything in anymore. His head is pounding for whatever reason, heat and icy coldness alternate with each other every minute or so (he's not counted, to be fair), walking takes an amount of effort it should have never siphoned away from his energy. He's running low on batteries, but he tries his best not to show he has black dots appearing all over his sight as not to bother his friend, not to hinder his plans to bust more of Orion's shady parts, not to make him think he may not have listened even for a millisecond to his ideas. He's never sure what to reply back, but he tries his best, because it's the least he can do. Well, he can _usually_ do, as it's getting difficult. Retaining a cough in is taking more and more of his focus and he hates that, he should be putting that focus towards more useful things rather than just being efficient on a basic level.

He's swaying on his feet when Nosaka stops in his tracks. He doesn't really know in which direction they're heading anymore, he's not paid enough attention (staying up takes too much effort), and he almost crashes into him. He starts an apology as quickly as possible, which means when the black dots start vanishing from his sight and when the world stops spinning, but he gets interrupted.

"Let's go back home, Nishikage," he tells him with a smirk. "I'm sure the others are waiting for us".

He doesn't reply verbally, just nods and follows through, trachea set on fire and moves sluggish. But he cannot complain, he's gone through with it willingly. He can just pick up after himself, words from his dry throat won't change much of anything.

They enter their training centre and, right as he can finally theorize on a destination, Nosaka turns around and leads them in the part of the building where they all sleep (its name is escaping his mind, right now), where nobody is around and where his footsteps echo against the pounding of his temples. His breathing is feeble, his skin is clammy against his layers, the chills aren't subsiding. This is bad, very bad, and he's not sure if the façade is going to last for long.

Which is why he's not surprised when he watches Nosaka put his back against the wall near their rooms, arms crossed, and the smirk not leaving. At least, he thinks it's a smirk? It's hard to tell.

"That's an impressive effort you've made there, Nishikage," Nosaka eventually tells him.

"What do you mean…?" His voice is much lower than usual, that's a giveaway already.

"You know, for someone who wasn't happy that I hadn't told him about my illness, you sure didn't want me to know about yours."

Ah, he's busted. He's always been, to be honest. It still somewhat hurts, though, so he looks aside.

"Don't make such a face, it's not a big deal. Just get some rest, next time, instead of pretending like everything's alright, okay? We wouldn't want you collapsing on us now, would we?"

Nosaka laughs it off, so he tries to do so too, but he ends up coughing instead.

"I think you've gotten the lesson, so," he gently pushes him towards his room, "you do what you've got to do. I only want to see you out for dinner!"

His feet are heavy and his balance still hasn't come back, but he still has questions burning the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't able to…"

"To do what?"

"…help you in what you wanted us to do."

"I'd rather have you rest when sick than letting you get that worse for a brainstorming session", Nosaka's grin and tone drop at the same time. "I appreciate the concern, but this is going a bit too far."

"…"

The smile comes back.

"Don't worry about it, just go rest for a bit. You've deserved that. It's not like you'll be able to stay on your feet for very long, am I wrong?"

He's not. He knows that. There's no way to go against him.

Even so, he still hesitates opening the door in front of Nosaka. It's most likely stupid, but his consciousness is dimming down and he should just get on with it… He shouldn't be making a fuss about it, so he quickly opens it anyway and disappears without a word.

Maybe, sometimes, he should speak up, because he was about to cause more trouble than anything. That, in itself, is dirtier than what he was trying to prevent. Talk about a mission failed.

Still, he falls onto the bed in the room, barely bothering taking off his shoes, and hopes he can do something better tomorrow. Today was harsh on him for sure; so there may be room to complain here, even if it's just to himself because being in this kind of state has never been fun for anyone who's ever breathed.

That's when he notices, right before finally passing out, the box and glass put on his bedside table. There's some amusement to be found to having been found out by more than one person, he realizes. Teammates care out for each other, he should have remembered that; and they're supposed to trust one another, so next time, he should try being honest about this.


End file.
